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Quotes about trail

Rudyard Kipling

The Long Trail

There's a whisper down the field where the year has shot her yield,
And the ricks stand grey to the sun,
Singing: "Over then, come over, for the bee has quit the dover,
"And your English summer's done."
You have heard the beat of the off-shore wind,
And the thresh of the deep-sea rain;
You have heard the song -- how long? how long?
Pull out on the trail again!
Ha' done with the Tents of Shem, dear lass,
We've seen the seasons through,
And it's time to turn the old trail, our own trail, the out trail,
Pull out, pull out, on the Long Trail-the trail that is always new!

It's North you may run to the rime-ringed sun
Or South to the blind Hom's hate;
Or East all the way into Mississippi Bay,
Or West to the Golden Gate --
Where the blindest bluffs hold good, dear lass,
And the wildest tales are true,
And the men bulk big on the old trail, our own trail, the out trail,

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Rudyard Kipling

L'envoi

There's a whisper down the field where the year has shot her yield,
And the ricks stand gray to the sun,
Singing: -- "Over then, come over, for the bee has quit the clover,
And your English summer's done."
You have heard the beat of the off-shore wind,
And the thresh of the deep-sea rain;
You have heard the song -- how long! how long?
Pull out on the trail again!

Ha' done with the Tents of Shem, dear lass,
We've seen the seasons through,
And it's time to turn on the old trail, our own trail, the out trail,
Pull out, pull out, on the Long Trail -- the trail that is always new.

It's North you may run to the rime-ringed sun,
Or South to the blind Horn's hate;
Or East all the way into Mississippi Bay,
Or West to the Golden Gate;
Where the blindest bluffs hold good, dear lass,
And the wildest tales are true,

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The Ballad Of The Northern Lights

One of the Down and Out--that's me. Stare at me well, ay, stare!
Stare and shrink--say! you wouldn't think that I was a millionaire.
Look at my face, it's crimped and gouged--one of them death-mask things;
Don't seem the sort of man, do I, as might be the pal of kings?
Slouching along in smelly rags, a bleary-eyed, no-good bum;
A knight of the hollow needle, pard, spewed from the sodden slum.
Look me all over from head to foot; how much would you think I was worth?
A dollar? a dime? a nickel? Why, I'm the wealthest man on earth.

No, don't you think that I'm off my base. You'll sing a different tune
If only you'll let me spin my yarn. Come over to this saloon;
Wet my throat--it's as dry as chalk, and seeing as how it's you,
I'll tell the tale of a Northern trail, and so help me God, it's true.
I'll tell of the howling wilderness and the haggard Arctic heights,
Of a reckless vow that I made, and how I staked the Northern Lights.

Remember the year of the Big Stampede and the trail of Ninety-eight,
When the eyes of the world were turned to the North, and the hearts of men elate;
Hearts of the old dare-devil breed thrilled at the wondrous strike,
And to every man who could hold a pan came the message, "Up and hike".

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The Lone Trail

Ye who know the Lone Trail fain would follow it,
Though it lead to glory or the darkness of the pit.
Ye who take the Lone Trail, bid your love good-by;
The Lone Trail, the Lone Trail follow till you die.

The trails of the world be countless, and most of the trails be tried;
You tread on the heels of the many, till you come where the ways divide;
And one lies safe in the sunlight, and the other is dreary and wan,
Yet you look aslant at the Lone Trail, and the Lone Trail lures you on.
And somehow you're sick of the highway, with its noise and its easy needs,
And you seek the risk of the by-way, and you reck not where it leads.
And sometimes it leads to the desert, and the togue swells out of the mouth,
And you stagger blind to the mirage, to die in the mocking drouth.
And sometimes it leads to the mountain, to the light of the lone camp-fire,
And you gnaw your belt in the anguish of hunger-goded desire.
And sometimes it leads to the Southland, to the swamp where the orchid glows,
And you rave to your grave with the fever, and they rob the corpse for its clothes.
And sometimes it leads to the Northland, and the scurvy softens your bones,
And your flesh dints in like putty, and you spit out your teeth like stones.
And sometimes it leads to a coral reef in the wash of a weedy sea,

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Bringing It Back

I must deviate from the pack.
When the trail goes cold I must learn how to bring it back.
Retracing the steps of an act.

I can't help but wonder.
And as the mind wonders

I must deviate from the pack.
When the trail goes cold I must learn how to bring it back.
Retracing the steps of an act.

I can't help but wonder.
And as the mind wonders.

I must deviate from the pack.
When the trail goes cold I must learn how to bring it back.
Retracing the steps of an act.

Getting this show on the road.
And this road is so little traveled

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The Trail Of Ninety-Eight

Gold! We leapt from our benches. Gold! We sprang from our stools.
Gold! We wheeled in the furrow, fired with the faith of fools.
Fearless, unfound, unfitted, far from the night and the cold,
Heard we the clarion summons, followed the master-lure--Gold!

Men from the sands of the Sunland; men from the woods of the West;
Men from the farms and the cities, into the Northland we pressed.
Graybeards and striplings and women, good men and bad men and bold,
Leaving our homes and our loved ones, crying exultantly--"Gold!"

Never was seen such an army, pitiful, futile, unfit;
Never was seen such a spirit, manifold courage and grit.
Never has been such a cohort under one banner unrolled
As surged to the ragged-edged Arctic, urged by the arch-tempter--Gold.

"Farewell!" we cried to our dearests; little we cared for their tears.
"Farewell!" we cried to the humdrum and the yoke of the hireling years;
Just like a pack of school-boys, and the big crowd cheered us good-bye.
Never were hearts so uplifted, never were hopes so high.

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Trail Of Tears

This song was first released on the dreamland express album. it is the only album it has been released on.
No more beautiful moons may we spend on our land
In the north, the scarlet council talks of war
And the long knives have massacred the tribe and burned corn
Were not welcome in our homeland anymore
No more songs of the hunters on the baffalo plain
No more smoke from sacred fires touch these hills
And the numbers of the people grow fewer every mile
And our children will not leave the great spirits ways
There will be a trail of tears
There will be a trail of pain
And jackson will have the mississippi and the twenty dollar bill
But for us the trail is all that will remain
On the streets of rapid city
On the road to wounded knee
There is whiskey for forgetting everything
But the old ones say there may be time learning from each other
The way that it had once been meant to be
There is still a trail of tears
There is still a trail of pain

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The passage wayto happiness

The passage way to happiness,
Isn't the trail to follow,
It doesn't take you anywhere,
But leads you to sorrow.

Theres no trail of happiness,
Only the people that surrounds you,
The only people that will make you smile,
Are the people you know and follow.

The passage way to happiness,
Isn't something to look for,
Something like that doesn't seem so real,
But only in the shows we love to watch.

Don't blieve in what people tell you,
That theres a trail that leads you to happiness,
They just wanna see you smile....

The passage way to happiness,

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Treading Dangerously

When we embarked on this path together
Skies at sunrise and sunset seemed deeper
While our glowing shadows cowered in their blaze
Wary like the spring that's only heard of the winter
I ask the spring -Does the winter ever creep in?
It answers; - I don't know.

Then I realize a daunting question like a mountain stood
On our path, to surmount it, I tried to bridge things my way
At times even with coldness, but I stood rebuffed
Cause you stood on top of the hill in pride, nonchalant
I ask the mountain -Will you stand in my path again?
It answers: - I don't know.

Then I bowed to your ways and prayed
the mountain would go away; it did
but at the back of my mind it did raise it's head
Always looming in the horizon
I ask the horizon-Is it still there?
It answers; - I don't know

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The Trail of Tears

You have the trail
but where are the tears?
No idea?
You are not that interested in tears
of those who had trodden the trail
from Georgia to Oklahoma
with little to eat or to clothe themselves
Might have seen hundreds and thousands of dead corpses
lying on the outskirts of the trail
with lice and bugs eating their flesh
The winter cold is so harsh
the blanket that they were wearing with bare feet
won't keep them warm
and What about the US army soldiers
once in a while raiding the folks
with a bundle of babies and little kids
they have to survive the long walks and the
cold and the starvation
to look for the place they can call home
for their homes were ripped by the white

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